


André Ventura gets enrabado

by burnout (orphan_account)



Category: Portugal's politicians
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, M/M, Other, POV Third Person, Politics, Self-Indulgent, i am extremely bored, the only x reader fic i would ever (and will ever) write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/burnout
Summary: Fuck fachos taken literally.
Relationships: André Ventura/Reader
Kudos: 3





	André Ventura gets enrabado

There was a subtle breeze breathing up your sleeves and stroking your hair. The stars and moon smiled at your presence and you couldn’t help but feel special. The city blurred behind a reinforced glass window.

Your face was stuck at a permanent grin.

The day had come.

You checked your pockets for the third time that day – everything had to go perfectly. Your heart was racing, and it took every spec of composure you had to remain seated in your place. Your stop was close by.

With jittery feet and eager hands, you exited the bus. You were so close, nothing could stop you now.

Deep breaths. You need to hold it in. Soon. Soon you’ll get to look at that bastards’ face and fuck him up so bad he’ll finally shut up for a few hours. Truly, you were doing the entire country of Portugal a favour – fucking the facist so no one else has to. Oh, you could not wait.

The streets were quiet, peaceful. It was funny, in a sordid sense. Your legs took you to your destiny faster than your mind could catch up. You had been planning this for weeks, studying his routine. Watching the people close to him. Everything you saw filled you with more and more anger. This lowlife excuse of a man had no backbone. Nothing was beneath him. He was a sick, twisted little man and you are going to show him just how small and insignificant he is.

You leaned against the wall of the building, daring to whistle away at the moonlight.

Minute after minute, people kept leaving the building. It was nearing 2 in the morning when he got his ass out of there. It just fuelled your rage. He was alone. You knew he’d be.

You pushed yourself away from the wall. Go time.

“Hey.”

He turned towards you, startled. His eyebrows furrowed and he took a hesitant step back. “Yes,” he cautiously answered, “are you talking to me?”

Oh, boy. He was about to get the biggest scare of his life. André Ventura thought he was untouchable. Hah. You licked your lips like a prey admiring its next meal.

You closed the distance between the two of you, making sure you didn’t seem threatening enough to get his guard up. He was about to say something else but as he opened his mouth you gripped his tie, wrapping it around your hand and pulled hard enough to make him stumble. You pulled him by the tie like a leash, swinging him around the corner into the dark alley. Ventura choked on his words but his little pea brain couldn’t work fast enough to fight back.

You pinned him against the wall with your body weight. Seeing the fear in his eyes, the realization that he was oh so powerless against you. Oh, now that was his place. That’s the state he belongs in. Weak, submissive, a mindless little bug who’s only purpose is to die under your boot.

“What- wh- are you doing?!” he squeaked. You reached up to his jaw, making sure to get a nice firm grip before you answered his question. His hands flew to your shoulders, about to push you away.

“Now, now…” you sighed, reaching down to your pocket. “let’s not do anything that endangers your pretty face, okay?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed against your knife.

“Please, please don’t kill me, heh…” he smiled nervously. “I have money! I’ll do anything just…please.” But that’s not what you want, now is it?

“Anything, you say? That’s good to hear. I thought it’d take some more convincing, but I’m glad you’re that eager to cooperate.”

As he heard your words, Ventura shakily patted himself down – probably looking for his wallet. You let him.

“Here!” he said, holding the silly little thing next to both of your faces. At that you had to laugh. A boisterous laugh, head thrown back and all. Play the part. The hand holding his jaw let go and snatched up the ridiculously engorged wallet. You threw it deeper into the alley. “You must think I’m a joke, Ventura.”

“What, no! No…” at this point he seemed about ready to fall to the ground and start licking your boots clean. Pitiful.

“We are not at the same level. I would never be coerced with something as filthy as money. Coming from you, no less.” You spat on his face and he cringed, squeezing himself into the wall as that was his best effort to get away from you. “Turn around, facho.”

He seemed taken aback. Unassumingly, he raised his arms and slowly turned his back to you. Such an obedient little slut. Smiling, you pushed his head against the wall, earning a pained gasp from him. You slipped the knife back into your pocket. Now with both hands free, you grabbed his waist with one and his hair with the other. His head was forcefully pulled back, only to be slammed against the cold, hard wall once again. You were somewhat surprised at how little resistance he put up. Maybe he was actually enjoying this. Maybe he was just that pathetic.

You tugged on his hair once more. Blood trickled down his forehead. His face belonged to a story book: his mouth stood agape, eyes wide open and nose twitching. Cheeks puffing. Cute.

“Well, aren’t you just a sad little puppy, huh? You’re teasing me.” Your teeth bared. Sadistic urges gave you all the confidence you needed. “Speak up, pup.”

His breath was ragged and his eyelids were fluttering, fighting away tears. “What are you going to do to me…?”

You decided not to answer him. Your actions could speak for themselves. The hand on Ventura’s waist crept down to his belt, quickly pulling it off. The button on his suit pants flew right off as you pulled his pants down. Ventura wanted to hide his face away but your hold on his hair was unrelenting. He looked away instead, hands against the wall just in case you decided to smash his face in once more.

You diverted your gaze down so you could see your next move. A quick glance up indicated Ventura was, in fact, still looking at you. “Shy, aren’t we, puppy?” you snickered. “Baring your ass for anyone who just happens to pass by but you won’t look me in the eye. Oh, what dreadful etiquette.”

Coherent thoughts seemed to run away from André Ventura’s mouth, but that’s not new. He could only gasp, almost pleadingly. “Ah, ah…oh…n-no…” oh this was just wonderful. You did it. You made the disgusting fascist speechless. A beautiful thing. You couldn’t wait to wreck him some more.

You grabbed a handful of the man’s ass, pulling him towards your hips and tight, bulging pants. Perfect chance to grind painstakingly slowly against the curvature of his behind.

Much to your surprise, Ventura just scrunched his eyebrows together and moaned, head resting on your shoulder. Delightful. “Oh, god…please…”

“Tsk. Pathetic.”

Making sure he wasn’t getting friction of any kind, you continued to rub yourself against his bare ass. The moonlight decorated the scene beautifully. It was ironic, in a way. Ventura wanted to fuck up the lives of a giant portion of the Portuguese people and here you were. Fucking Ventura. Poetic vengeance. And, if you were getting anything out of this – besides the pleasure of degrading this lowlife and getting a good fuck – you had to admit his ass was nice. Soft, plush and malleable. He was crying out of frustration, you noticed. Good. The tears rolled down his cheeks, complimenting their redness. He struggled to stand straight.

His pants were stuck just bellow his ass, and so you began to work on your own. You carefully unbuttoned your jeans and slid down the zipper. Taking a minute to appreciate how those were the only sounds in the alley, just your zipper and his breathy moans, you licked your teeth.

Once again you reached down your pockets, grabbing the small tube. Ventura didn’t deserve any sort of preparation. He deserved to get fucked raw, he deserved to get his shit wrecked, he deserved to be unable to walk or speak for a month. Fortunately for Ventura, your dick did not deserve the same treatment. So you made sure to be quick about it, spreading the lube around two fingers and – after sliding your other hand from his hair to his exposed throat – rubbed down the crevice of his ass cheeks until you reached his hole. You wasted no time shushing him before squeezing your girthy fingers inside.

“N-no! It h-hurts,” he said in between squeaks.

For as long as a second, you forgot this was Ventura you were fucking, and began to pull your fingers out. But no, this fucker had the audacity to push his ass back onto your hand. All while squeaking like a little bitch.

“G-ah! I’m sorry, no, please…” he begged.

“For someone who claims not to be Mickey Mouse, you sure squeak a lot, bitch boy.” You said, receiving more squeaking in return. “Say it.”

“Huh, s-say wha-”

You left him hanging. Your fingers were pulled back halfway despite his desperate attempts at fucking himself on them. After some more pathetic squeaking he gave in.

“I’m-I’m Mickey Mouse! Now, please, I can’t take it anymore…” he said towards your ear. The hand on his throat squeezed and he went cross eyed, sighing in pleasure. You too conceded and began thoroughly fucking his tight hole with your fingers. Right now you really wanted to get off as quickly as possible. You were getting distracted. Ventura was pliant for you and you craved it.

You pulled your fingers out. That was all the preparation he was going to get.

You quickly grabbed the condom in your pocket, ripping open the foil and rolling it on. Rubbing your dick with the lube, you sighed. The cooling feeling was more than welcome. As an afterthought, you leaned your head down to the space on his neck just above his collar, biting down hard before pushing in. He smelled of money, corruption, greed, hatred. And a little musky deodorant to top it off. You felt disgusted by your body’s eager reaction, though you couldn’t help but groan in response.

Ventura’s knees buckled under the pressure and he grabbed onto you for support. Alas, his pride wasn’t strong enough to fight off the prolonged squeal that bounced off the walls of the alley and came back full force and echoing onto his own ears.

Your relief was apparent in the sigh you let out. No one was here to hear him, so Ventura could be as loud as he damn well wished to. Your hands moved to his hips almost automatically, seeing as he wasn’t putting up a fight. Being able to breathe properly again, Ventura lost control, bracing himself on the wall – trembling and panting – head lowered between his arms. It sure was a sight for sore eyes. Now that you had a proper hold, you wasted no time in squeezing in. He was still so tight, there was no way he could be enjoying this now. Except he was, and if there were anyone in a 2 kilometre radius, it’d be apparent to them too. Truly, Ventura was moaning unabashedly for everyone to hear. “I bet this is exactly what you wanted, bastard.” He didn’t reply. “You just wanted someone to put you back in your place like the little bitch you are. Am I wrong?”

His lack of response was starting to annoy you. Your dominant hand reached up to him, tugging on his collar before pushing his head back onto your shoulder. His mouth was completely open, tongue out and panting like a bitch. You snickered, forcing two fingers down his throat. He gagged; eyelashes wet. “I asked you a question. Put your mouth to good use, yes?”, you slowly stated.

Muffled laughter.

He started to speak, choking on every other word. “You’re…enjoy-ying t-this,”

It was your turn to laugh, interrupting him. You didn’t want to think about his words and how they were absolutely not true. Better yet, that’s not what was at stake here. As if to remind him of that, you started thrusting in and out of him at a punishing pace, nearly falling over when Ventura’s arms faltered for a bit, given how heavily you were pushing yourself onto the weaker man. At some point, you stopped caring for any bruises that might appear on his body later, seeking your pleasure alone. Ventura had begun biting your fingers, but you stayed put. You could only focus on the constricting wetness of his mouth, the shapely hips you held him by and the tightness around your cock. How loud he was being, his trembling voice, the pleas and the rambling. The night breeze cooled your warming cheeks. Everything else was so warm.

You did your best to be quiet, only letting out a “fuck” every now and again, separated by little gasps.

So close to reaching orgasm, you paused, making sure to slip out and slip back in excruciatingly slow, appreciating every sensation before it ended. “God, fuck…ah-!”

There was a pause while you came down from your high, breathing heavily. Ventura was still whining and groaning, pushing back on your softening dick while simultaneously slipping his tongue around and in between the fingers still in his mouth. When the aftershocks of your strong orgasm finally slowed down, you neatly pulled out, partially wishing you had ditched the condom and came inside his ass, just so you could see it inevitably ooze out in the end. As a final argument on how pathetic the man in front of you truly was. Nothing but a cum dumpster to be used and thrown away.

You tied up the condom and dropped it on the floor, watching intently as Ventura eyed it from over your shoulder.

He was earnestly sucking on your fingers now, cheeks recognizably pink even in the dark. You made eye contact. His eyes were soft and his hand held your arm in place, almost like he didn’t want you to leave.

A pathetic sight.

Weak and fucked out as he was, you didn’t face great resistance as you pulled your arm free and took a full step backwards.

Ventura wiped his mouth with his coat’s sleeve. His lips were shiny and red, and there was a dark mark on his neck you forgot you made. His breathing matched yours.

With a shiver, you pushed him on the floor. He looked like a kicked puppy, but that’s the way he always looks when he’s not talking.

“Stop looking at me like that, you piece of shit,” you spat at his face, the spit hitting his lower lip and well kept beard. “Disgusting.”

The man was holding himself up by his elbows, one leg drawn up as if trying to hide. He had a hard-on, you noted. Of course he would. You brought your heavy black boot down on his stomach, making him heave and fall on his back. You leaned into the boot on his upper body, finding joy in the spluttering and pained sounds he let out. You stomped him once again, lower. He was still at your mercy, canting his hips up desperately, but unable to relieve himself.

“Please…oh, please…” he begged. You heartily laughed at the sad sight.

You raised your boot over his head, threateningly. He promptly jerked his face sideways as your heel came down and ground on his cheek. Watching Ventura lie down on that dirty alley, eating shit and in pain, gave you the biggest power high of your life. His hand gripped your leg, but he didn’t push you off. You were about to let him go when you noticed he had the audacity to be touching himself, free hand rubbing down on the bulge inside his suit pants.

Something inside you flared up in anger and you kicked his crotch. Ventura was now curled up into a ball on the floor, yelping in pain – or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore.

You crouched down next to his face.

“Drop out of the presidential race, sir. It’s better for your health. Seek therapy.”

He didn’t reply, but crawled towards you and, as you got up to leave, began licking your shoes. You considered playing for a bit longer, but in the end you settled with kicking him in the face and leaving the bastard on the cold alley, bleeding, crying, and with semen drying inside his pants.

**Author's Note:**

> Parabéns, fachinho! Espero que gostes.  
> Posted on the 15th of January, 2021; 00:01.


End file.
